A Study in Stone
by Mirasaurus
Summary: Wholock. Sherlock and John get called in on a bizarre case about a string of disappearances at Wester Drumlines. The case turns out to be even stranger than they thought when time travel and aliens get involved.


**AN: **I wrote this ages ago on a road trip on my phone, bored out of my mind, and just now ran across it again. It's been sitting on my computer finished for some time, I just never bothered to post it. I'm not all that in love with it, but what the hell? You guys might like it. It's a crossover of Sherlock (some time between Hound of the Baskervilles and Reichenbach) and Blink. For some bits I had to use chunks of actual dialogue from Blink, so all rights to the evil overlord Moffat and the BBC and all that rot. (Seriously, this is a site for fanfiction, I don't understand the need for disclaimers) tell me what you think!

* * *

A Study in Stone

John was just shuffling down the stairs to his bedroom when there was a knock at the door of 221B Baker Street. As usual, Sherlock had stayed up through the night at his microscope, performing his experiments. John on the hand was exhausted from their latest case, and all the sleepless nights that it entailed.  
"You can get that, Sherlock. I'm going to make some tea," John yawned at his flat mate as he rounded the corner into the kitchen.  
"It's just Lestrade with another case," he said disinterestedly, not moving from his microscope.  
"Well get it anyway."  
Begrudgingly, Sherlock peeled himself away from his latest experiment and let Lestrade in.  
"Afternoon, boys. We've got another odd one for you. It's got us completely stumped. Should be right up your alley."  
"Saying that it has the Yard stumped is hardly an accurate representation of the cases difficulty, Inspector."  
"Afternoon? Good lord Sherlock, how long did you let me sleep?" John exclaimed, too used to Sherlock's rudeness to bother apologizing to Lestrade for his bad manners.  
"You slept for eleven hours and twenty-three minutes, from when you came downstairs a few minutes ago. I thought it appropriate since you were complaining about having to stay up all night with me on the last case."  
"Boys, can we save the quite frankly creepy flirting for later?" Lestrade said as John stood there staring dumbfoundedly at Sherlock. "We've got six missing-persons cases in the last two weeks all from the same location with no evidence and no leads, and dozens more dating back over the last couple decades. Who or whatever's doing this is picking up their pace."  
Snapping his attention away from John to Lestrade, Sherlock's face filled with unabashed glee as the detective inspector explained the case. When he finished, Sherlock was positively beaming.  
"Why didn't you say so from the beginning, Greg?" he shouted, spinning on the spot gracefully and dashing over to John. He plucked the kettle off the stove just as it was about to boil and herded John back towards the stairs to his bedroom.  
"Get dressed, John! Quickly! We can get you coffee on the way! We've got a kidnapper to catch!" Sherlock dashed over to his cost and scarf, his long legs crossing the sitting room in just a couple strides. Shoving his arms into his coat sleeves, he whirled to face Lestrade again. "We'll take the case, text me the location. We'll be right behind."  
Lestrade mumbled his thanks, knowing it wouldn't matter either way with the consulting detective. Just as he closed the door behind him, John trotted back down the stairs, already having changes out of his pajamas bottoms into a fresh pair of trousers, still in the same rumpled navy blue t-shirt he'd slept in to save time. He knew that if he hadn't hurried, Sherlock would have left him at the flat. Thankfully his years in the military had made him used to dressing quickly.  
As Sherlock tied his scarf around his neck, John pulled on his jumper and they dashed out the door, Sherlock's coat billowing out behind him as they chased down a cab.  
Fifteen minutes later, their cab pulled up to a massive house, abandoned for a century or more.  
"Ah, Wester Drumlins. I brought a girl here once," John mumbled to himself, expecting Sherlock to already be too wrapped up in making deductions to notice. Instead, Sherlock stopped and turned to face him.  
"What?" he asked.  
"When I was a teenager."  
"What?" Sherlock asked again. John could have sworn he looked almost hurt.  
"Oh, don't look at me like that. She insisted on leaving before... anything anyway. She kept saying she could hear people moving around upstairs. At the time I thought she'd just changed her mind about me, but in light of this case, now I'm not so sure..."  
"Interesting..." Sherlock drawled as he proceeded inside.  
Lestrade was waiting for them by the front door, accompanied by a young black officer with a pleasant smile on his face.  
"Hello again boys." Lestrade said to the pair as they approached, following after Sherlock as he predictably ignored him and proceeded into the house. While Sherlock poked about in the dilapidated sitting room, John took the liberty of speaking to Lestrade.  
"Doctor Watson, this is Detective Inspector Billy Shipton," Lestrade said, gesturing to the cheery man from outside. "He's in charge of the Wester Drumlins case. This technically isn't my division, I just thought he could use some help with your colleague."  
"I'm sure he's not as bad as you make him out to be, Greg," Billy laughed, offering his hand to John. "Pleased to meet you, Doctor Watson."  
"John, please," he said, taking the offered hand. "And I'll let you make your own judgments about Sherlock."  
Just then, Sherlock looked over his shoulder and called over to John.  
"If you're done with the pleasantries, John, it would be nice if you could help me."  
"There's nobody for me to inspect, Sherlock. These are kidnappings, not murders."  
"That doesn't mean I don't want your opinion. For once I don't see anything. I need you, John."  
Flattered by Sherlock's admission of defeat, John started trying to notice every minute detail of the room the way Sherlock does. He was about to give up when he noticed something. A peeling piece of the ancient -and quite frankly appalling - wallpaper was peeling. Anyone else would have overlooked it, but after being with Sherlock for so long John had learned not to overlook anything.  
Upon closer inspection, John realized that the paint beneath the wallpaper was two different colors.  
"Sherlock, take a look at this."  
"What is it John? What have you found?"  
"The paint, look. A message underneath?"  
Without a word Sherlock grabbed the little corner of wallpaper and peeled it off, revealing the word 'beware!'  
Sherlock pulled out his little collapsible magnifying glass and inspected the message.  
"John, this is written in acrylic paint. This house has been abandoned since at least the late 60's judging by the amount of decay, and this wallpaper would have been put up long before then going by the type of adhesive. There's just one problem: acrylic paint didn't exist until sometime after that."  
"Maybe whoever put the message there hung the wallpaper with old supplies? I'm sure there's some left somewhere in the world."  
"No, John. Look there, near the window. It's faded where the sun's shined on it for half a century, and it's molded near the bottom, and dried out again, multiple times. And if they'd gone to the trouble of using old paste they wouldn't have written the message in modern paint. Plus look at it, it's old. Really old. Fifty years, at least."  
"So what are we dealing with?"  
"I don't know. Isn't it thrilling?" Sherlock beamed, before noticing the top of another letter below the first word. Excitedly, he began shredding off more and more wallpaper like a kid at Christmas.  
"Sherlock! That's my crime scene you're ripping up!" Lestrade bellowed, but Sherlock ignored him.  
Gradually, he revealed more and more of the message:  
"Beware the weeping angel. Oh, and duck! No really, duck. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Duck, Now!"  
When the word 'Now!' was revealed, the pair glanced at each other before throwing themselves to the ground. A split second later, a flower pot shattered where their heads - or rather Sherlock's shoulder and John's head - had been moments before. Lestrade Shipton drew their guns and ran outside, but no one was around.  
Sherlock pulled off one more scrap of paper, revealing, 'Love from the Doctor. (1969)'  
"Very interesting..." Sherlock said, half to himself and half to John before dashing out of the room and up the stairs.  
John looked out into the garden where the pot had flown from, and saw a statue of an angel, with its face pressed into the crook of its arm.  
"Beware the weeping angel..." he muttered to himself before dashing after Sherlock.

John found Sherlock in a small room, filled with three more of the creepy statues. Sherlock was bent over the one at the far end of the room, which had a key on a string gripped in one hand.  
"What do you make of these, John?"  
"Someone had a strange sense of interior design? I saw one more downstairs in the garden.  
"These are solid granite, John. Each one would weigh almost a ton each. They would never have fit through the door; this room would have had to be built around them. Come along, John, I have to think."  
John snatched the key out of the angel's grip and the two dashed out of the room. Upon arriving at the flat, Sherlock retreated to his mind palace. Deciding to make himself useful, John left to go speak to Billy at the Yard. While he was waiting, John looked up at the building across the street, and saw two statues that had most definitely not been there before. He blinked, and they had disappeared.  
"Ok, cracking up now..." he said to himself before hearing Billy call his name.  
"John, come with me. I've got something to show you."  
Billy led the doctor off to the impound garage, ground floor. It was filled with cars of all kinds; any make and model for the last twenty or so years. In the far corner was a large blue box that said, 'police' on top.  
"All of these cars have turned up at Wester Drumlins over the last two decades. This is the most recent: turned up last night. The owner Kathy Nightingale and her friend Sally Sparrow haven't been seen since. We found Sally's camera at the scene, which is how we know she was there. Kathy had a brother, Larry Nightingale. He works at a DVD store a few blocks down."  
"And what's that?" John asked, gesturing towards the box.  
"Ah, that's the pride of the Wester Drumlins collection. I think someone put it there as a joke. It's supposed to be a Police Box, they had them all over in the 60's. Except this one's just a dummy. The phone is a fake and the windows are the wrong size."  
"What's inside it?"  
"We don't know. The doors are locked and nothing we have can get inside it."  
"Alright, thanks for your time, Billy. Here's my number and Sherlock's in case anything new comes up." John said, handing him one of their cards. He had just ducked underneath the half-open garage door when he stuffed his hands in his pockets and remembered the key. He ran back inside the garage and called for Billy, but he was nowhere to be seen. He heard the sound of flapping wings and turned, seeing that the police box had disappeared. He heard the sound again and saw that the garage door was now fully open. A bit scared now, he was thankful that Sherlock wasn't there to insist they investigate, John hurried off towards the DVD store, hoping to arrive before the rain that was now falling got much worse.  
When he arrived, he wasn't greeted by a very fat man sitting behind the counter, staring intently at some cheesy 80's movie.  
"I'm looking for Larry Nightingale," John announced in as authoritative a voice as he could manage, hoping to tear the man's attention away from the telly.  
"In the back." he said, not even sparing John a glance. A bit annoyed, John proceeded through the beaded curtain and was greeted by a strange man on the Telly talking about some kind of nonsense.  
"See, people think time is a strict progression of cause and effect when actually it's more a big ball of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey... Stuff."  
"That sentence got away from you didn't it, mate?" John said to the screen.  
"It got away from me, yea." it replied.  
"Okay, had bloody enough of that," John sighed, picking up the remote and pausing the recording. He was still unnerved from the incident at the garage earlier.  
"Enough of what?" asked a scraggly man who had come through another door with a box of DVDs.  
"Nothing, never mind," he said quickly, not wanting to explain that he'd been speaking to a recording.  
"Oh, you were watching the guy, weren't you? Creepy, isn't it? It's an easter egg. Hidden beneath layers of clues in the menu screens."  
The pause on the recording slipped, and the man said, "it's complicated."  
after pausing it again, Larry continued, "That guy appears on 17 totally unrelated DVDs. I've spoken to the producers, they don't know who he is. The manufactures, they don't even know. The same bloke every time, having the same half of the same conversation."  
"Very complicated," he interrupted again.  
"Can I get a transcript of the conversation and a list of the DVDs?" John asked, not actually expecting it to be related to their current case, but he thought It would be a good distraction for Sherlock next time he got bored.  
Larry dug through a stack of papers next to the telly and handed John what he asked for. He stepped outside into the rain, and was about to hail a cab to head back to the flat when his phone buzzed in his pocket. It was Billy, asking him the come to Saint Bart's hospital. Walking quickly through the rain, he sent a text to Sherlock typing out him the room number Billy had specified as quickly as he could to protect his phone from the moisture. When the text sent, John hoped that it would be enough to remove Sherlock from his mind palace.

When he arrived, Sherlock was waiting for him outside the door to the room, looking beside himself with impatience. "John, what took you so long? I would have gone in on my own already had you not failed to give me any of the details you've managed to bring to light."

"Honestly Sherlock, I haven't really found out much of anything. There isn't a single thing about this case that makes sense so far."

"There's something, John. There's always something. We just haven't found the kidnapper's mistake yet," Sherlock assured him as they stepped through to door. The sight that greeted them on the other side of the door was enough to stop both of them dead in their tracks.

Laying in a hospital bed at the far end of the room near the window lay a man that was unarguably Detective Inspector Billy Shipton, but somehow in the last few mintues since John had seen him last he's lost all his hair and his skin had become withered and leathery like an old man's.

"Billy? Is that you?" John started timidly, not for the first time with Sherlock completely unsure of what to do or what was happening.

"Yes, John, it's me. And I've been waiting a long time to deliver a message," he wheezed, his voice sounding cracked and faded with time.

"From the Doctor."

"The Doctor? John, that was the name of the man who managed to leave use a note 50 years ago!"

Ignoring Sherlock's outburst, Billy continued, "Do you have the list yet?"

"The list?"

"Yes, of 17 DVDs. He said you'd have it by now."

"Yes, but how did you know? I only got this a few minutes ago. Besides, I thought it was another case entirely!"

"John! What list? Tell me!" Sherlock bellowed, clearly furious to be taking John's role of quietly sitting in the back and letting everyone else figure it out without him.

"Billy gave me a potential lead, and I went to check it out, but it only led to some lunatic with a conspiracy theory about some bloke and DVDs.," turning back towards Billy, he continued, "Are you telling me there's a connection?"

"I suppose it's hard for you, in a way... but yes, there is. The Doctor said you'd understand, but I never would."

"Billy, I don't know what's happened to you, but I swear that the moment we find out what's going on we'll come and tell you," John reassured.

"No. The Doctor said we'd only meet this one last time.I have until the rain stops."

"I'll stay with you."

While John sat next to Billy's bed and asked him questions about how his life had been, Sherlock snatched the list of DVDs away from him, looking over it intently. The moment that the heart monitor Billy was hooked up to, Sherlock's eyes widened. John knew not to mistake this for Sherlock feeling any kind of sentiment for the man, so he asked if he'd figured anything out.

"The list, John! These are all _our_ DVDs!

"Are you saying it's pointing to us again?"

"Yes, John. Just like the wall. But... how? This isn't possible! It just isn't!"

"Exactly, Sherlock. It's impossible. And you're overlooking the only reasonable answer."

"And what exactly might that be, John?"

"Time travel," he stated without hesitation, as if he were commenting on the weather or the quality of a cup of tea. He didn't really expect Sherlock to believe him anyway.

"That's what I was afraid you'd say."

'_Well, that's certainty unexpected,' _John thought to himself. "So you're really just going to accept time travel? After the way you reacted to thinking you saw the hound?"

"That's precisely the point, John. Time travel is a matter of science, not some massive glowing dog that I was trying very hard not to believe was somehow supernatural."

"If you say so. But don't you dare go and have another nervous breakdown on me."

Sherlock stared at John reproachfully before saying, "Come on, John. It's about time I saw this 'Doctor'."

With that the detective shrugged back into his coat and they left St. Bart's, walking down the dam London streets towards the DVD store. Upon arriving, Sherlock demanded Larry get a portable DVD player from the back and one of the movies on the list before shoving the confused man into a cab headed back to the house.

"Okay… this one's got the best video, slightly better sound quality on this one—" Larry started as he set up the DVD on the floor of the room John had found the message in.

"It doesn't matter, get on with it."

Larry frowned, but pressed play anyway. Immediately, a man with spiked brown hair, glasses, and a brown pinstripe suit appeared on the screen.

"That must be the Doctor," John said

"The Doctor?" Larry looked confused.

"His name. Do try to pay attention," Sherlock said without looking away from the screen, his hands steepled in concentration.

"Yep, that's me," The man on the screen said after his initial odd silence.

"That's scary." John said.

"No, it sounds like he's replying but he always says that," Larry said dismissively.

"Yes I do," the Doctor agreed.

"And that."

"Yep, and this."

"He has to be able to actually hear us, this is ridiculous!" John interrupted, seriously creeped out now.

"Of course he can't hear us! Look. I got a transcript, see? Everything he says. "Yep that's me, yes I do, yep and this, next this—"

"—Are you gonna read that whole thing?" the Doctor said in unison with the store clerk.

"Who are you?" Sherlock asked the screen, ignore Larry and John's antics.

"I'm a time traveler, or I was, I'm stuck in 1969."

"We're stuck! All of space and time he promised me, now I got a job in a shop, I have to support him!" a woman interrupted, popping into frame from the side of the screen.

"Martha!" the Doctor scolded, the woman disappearing again with an apology.

"I've seen this bit before," John said.

"Quite possibly." The Doctor agreed.

"You're talking to us from 1969?" Sherlock asked, still all business.

"'Fraid so."

"How do you know what we'll say 40 years before we've said it?" John asked.

"38." The Doctor and Sherlock corrected simultaneously.

"I'm getting this down, I'm writing in your bits," Larry said as he fumbled for a pen.

"How can you know what we're going to say? How?" Sherlock demanded.

"People don't understand time. It's not what you think it is."

"Then what is it?"

"Complicated."

"Tell me."

"Very complicated."

"I am Sherlock Holmes, I can handle complicated. Do on a daily basis, in fact. Now I'm beginning to lose my patience, so tell me!"

"People assume that time is a straight progression of cause to effect but actually from a non-linear non-subjected viewpoint it's more like a ball of wibbly-wobbly timey whimey. ...stuff."

"I've seen this bit before too. Next he'll say that sentence got away from him." John interrupted again.

"It got away from me, yea."

"Next he'll say 'Well I can hear you'."

"Well I can hear you."

"This is impossible!"

"No, it's brilliant!" Larry exclaimed, writing hurriedly.

"Well not hear you exactly. But I know everything you're gonna say."

"Always gave me the shivers, that bit."

"How do you know what I'll say?" Sherlock said.

"Look to your left." Sherlock did, seeing Larry sitting on the floor scribbling madly.

"What does he mean by "look to your left"? I've written tons about that on the forum. I think it's a political statement!"

"He means you! What are you doing?" Sherlock demanded, snatching the paper away.

"I've got a copy of the finished transcript. It's on my autocue."

"How can you have a copy of a transcript that's still being written?" John asked.

"Time traveler, John. Do try to keep up." Sherlock snapped.

"What matters is we can communicate, we've got big problems now. They have taken the blue box haven't they? The angels have the phone box?"

"'The angels have the phone box' that's my favorite. I've got that on a t-shirt."

"You mean the statues upstairs?"

"Creatures from another world."

"But they're statues." Sherlock insisted.

"Only when you can see them."

"What does that mean?"

"The lonely assassins, they used to be called. No one quite knows where they came from but they're as old as the universe, or very nearly. And they have survived this long because they have the most perfect defense system ever evolved. They are quantum locked. They don't exist when they're being observed. The moment they are seen by any other living creature they freeze into rock. No choice, it's a fact of their biology. In the sight of any living thing they literally turn to stone, and you can't kill a stone. 'Course, a stone can't kill you either but then you turn your head away, then you blink and oh yes it can."

Sherlock glanced away from the screen at the statue in the garden. "John… don't take your eyes off that."

"That's why they cover their eyes. They're not weeping, they can't risk looking at each other. They're greatest asset is they're greatest curse. They can never be seen. Loneliest creatures in the universe. And I'm sorry, I'm very, very sorry it's up to you now."

"What are we supposed to do?" John asked, eyes locked on the angel.

"The blue box, that's my time machine. There's a world of time energy in there they could feast on forever but the damage they could do could switch off the sun. You have got to send it back to me."

"How?" Sherlock yelled.

"And that's it I'm afraid, there's no more from you on the transcript, that's the last I've got. I don't know what stopped you talking but I can guess. They're coming. The angels are coming for you but listen; your life could depend on this. Don't blink, don't even blink! Blink and you're dead. They're fast, faster than you can believe. Don't turn your back, don't look away, and don't blink! Good Luck."

"I'll play it again!" Larry offered when the video stopped, bumping into John and making him blink. At the same time, Sherlock looked down at the man and shouted, "What good will that do?"

They all three froze, whipping their eyes back to the angel. It was now standing inches from them, pointed teeth and claws bared, arms reaching out.

"Don't take your eyes off that, Larry. John, go and see if you can find that box he was talking about." The consulting detective ordered.

"Do you seriously expect me to leave you here with that _thing_?" John demanded as Sherlock inspected the angel closely. "Don't touch it, Sherlock! You heard him, one touch and you're dead."

Sherlock sighed, "Fine John, I'll come with you. Don't blink Larry." And he swept off, leaving the terrified man alone with the alien.

"They've locked the door!" John shouted.

"There's a cellar," Sherlock noticed, "Perhaps the box is down there."

"Are you seriously still concerned about some crazy time traveler's box while there's aliens trying to kill us?" the soldier shouted, following the taller man down the stairs.

When they arrived in the basement, they saw three more angels ranged around the room, the police box at the far side. Sherlock and John began to approaching, keeping back to back to keep their eyes on the angels. Then Larry came screaming down the stairs, the fourth angel appearing behind him a moment later.

"Why is it pointing at the lights?" John asked as they began to flicker. The trio bolted for the box, shouting at each other as John fumbled with the TARDIS key. The angels were right on top of them now, drawing ever closer which each flicker of the lights.

Finally, the door fell open and John slammed it behind them. They enjoyed a moment of peace, Sherlock inspecting the controls while his companions looked around in the whole room began to shake, and a hologram of the Doctor appeared, talking about a control disc. Larry fished around in his pocket and pulled out the DVD, now glowing brightly.

"Look for a slot!" Sherlock yelled, frantically searching the console.

"Got it!" John shouted, Larry tossing it to him.

The TARDIS engines started, but the room began to fade around them.

"Look at them!" John ordered, all three of them glancing frantically from angel to angel.

"I don't think we need to," Sherlock said after a moment. "They're looking at each other."

"They're never gonna move again!" Larry shouted gleefully.

A few months later, Sherlock was looked out the window, thoroughly bored, when he saw a man with spiked hair and glassed running down Baker's Street, the woman from the video at his heels. Without a word he bolted out of the flat with the case file, starling John and Mrs. Hudson out of their conversation.

"Doctor!" he yelled after him, running to catch up.

The man stopped and turned, "Oh hello. Don't think we've met yet… sorry, time traveler, things tend to happen to me in the wrong order. Can't really talk right now actually, there's a… thing happening. Well, four things. Well, four things and a lizard. So if you don't mind…"

"Oh, would you stop babbling for a moment and listen?" Sherlock barked. "This is important. One day, you're going to get stuck in 1969. You have to make sure you have this with you."

Sherlock handed him the case file, and the Doctor just shrugged and shoved it in one of his pockets.

"Is that all then?" Sherlock nodded, and the Doctor dashed off again, stopping just before he turned the corner and shouting, "Nice coat!"

"You too!" Sherlock yelled back, the Doctor smiling goofily and dashing off on another adventure.


End file.
